


Of books, clothes, tea and Guinness

by sheswanderlust



Category: Hannibal (TV) RPF
Genre: Fluff, Life Together, M/M, Madancy, Mads and his plaid shirts, Maybe part of a new series, bookworm!Hugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:36:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheswanderlust/pseuds/sheswanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> It all started with the books. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of books, clothes, tea and Guinness

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know, I don't assume, it's all fiction.

It all started with the books. 

It was not that Mads did not read. Sometimes, he would buy a book in a bookshop or in an airport duty free because the cover looked nice and then he would spend the following days reading it, curious to see how it would end. Mainly, he read sports magazines about basically every discipline. The magazines were scattered around his house, some on the coffee table, some on the windowsill, some on the bookshelf in the living room. Then Hugh had become part of his life and, consequently, of his house. Mads had first noticed the change when he had found a big book on his coffee table, beside his last issue of _Tipsbladet_. He had took it in his hands, sagged his weight. It was _The Karamazov brothers_ , in the Oxford World’s Classics edition. He had browsed through the pages, stopping at the dog-ear. He had smiled, unconsciously, and had put the book on the table, on top of his magazine. He looked at it for some minutes, the sound of Hugh’s showering as a background music. Somehow, the presence of that book left carelessly on the table by the other man had a meaning that was beyond words.  
After Dostoevsky, it had been the time of Dickens. Mads was enjoying some downtime on his couch while Hugh cooked dinner. He had supposed that the book opened on the kitchen counter next to Hugh was a recipe book. Then, he had got up to take a glass of water and he had looked more attentively. On the top of the dense-written pages, the title of the novel stood out. _Our mutual friend_. He had stayed beside Hugh for a while, to understand if his boyfriend was actually reading it. Given by the fact that he had not even noticed him, he definitely was. Mads had looked at the Brit avidly devouring word after word, turning the pages without losing his focus and keeping on stirring the soup he was cooking. The older man could not tell if he felt disconcerted or amazed.  
After those two episodes, more and more books found their way to Mads house. It begun to be an ordinary fact for him to find them on the kitchen table, in the wardrobe, in the bathroom, even when Hugh was not in Denmark. Somehow, they were a reminder of his presence in the house, even when he was miles away. And then, finally, he would come back and Mads would find him splayed on the bed, reading a Lord Byron’s collection or some obscure French book. 

 

After the books, it had been the time of the clothes. 

Being so used to the usual appearance of his wardrobe – a long row of Adidas hoodies, checked flannel shirts and grey t-shirts – Mads had been taken aback when one day he opened the closet and found some monochromatic sweaters and blazers on a side of the rack. He had looked at the still sleeping form on his bed and asked himself for the umpteenth time how the man could live without shell suits. Then, he had come to bed again and had kissed Hugh awake. 

"I love your clothes in my closet" he had murmured to him when the Brit had opened his eyes. The sleepy Hugh had needed some moments to understand what he was referring to, and then he had smiled and had snuggled against him. For an unspoken agreement, since that day the suitcase half full of clothes in an angle of the room had disappeared and everything, not only the sweaters, had been put in Mads their closet, even when Hugh was going to stay over only for a few days. Hugh’s clothes had then found their way to Mads laundry room. The man could still remember the overwhelming feeling when he found an old Oxford University’s hoodie in the laundry pile. And somehow, slowly, Hugh had found his way in Mads clothes, becoming especially affectionate to a green and black plaid shirt. Ironically, it had never been one of Mads’s favorites. Since when he had seen it on Hugh, though, hanging loosely on his smaller frame, he had loved it as never before. 

 

Then, a British invasion had overturned his pantry. 

Mads had always been a coffee type of person. There was really nothing that could wake him up better than a strong cup of black coffee. Maybe only a blowjob from Hugh. He had always known that even if he liked coffee and sometimes needed it to stay awake, Hugh was more of a tea type of person. Typically British, he had thought the first time he had seen him with a cup of tea in his hands. Still, he really could not realize that there existed so many varieties of tea. He had been relatively relaxed when the English Breakfast and the Early Grey appeared. It was still safe land. Then, Darjeeling came, and he could accept it, because Hugh was definitely sexy pronouncing it. Assam followed and then it was time for Lapsang Souchong. When Mads smelled it, he wondered if Twinings had committed a mistake and had put bacon in their teabags instead of actual tea. 

"What? It tastes so good" had said Hugh with raising an eyebrow, when one morning Mads could not hide his half-disgusted face at the sight of him drinking that thing.

 

It had been on an ordinary evening that Mads fully realized how Hugh had entered his life from the back door and had made himself comfortable. He opened the fridge and found some Guinness cans beside his usual Ceres bottles. He turned and looked at Hugh, seated on the couch, reading an old issue of _Tipsbladet_ with a Danish-English dictionary beside him and Mads’s plaid shirt on. He did not know how many minutes he had spent like that, looking at him, the fridge door open. Then, with a broad smile, he took a Guinness and a Ceres. He closed the fridge, opened both beers and joined Hugh on the couch. The Brit accepted the beer and the older man’s arm around him with a smile. He lay his head on Mads’s shoulder. With a silent toast, Hugh continued his slow read and Mads continued to look at him. In that moment, he knew. For his whole life, if someone would ask how happiness tasted, that was the answer. Beer flavor and curls tickling his nose.


End file.
